


Point of Contention

by mresundance



Series: Things We Said [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Face-Sitting, M/M, Makeup Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tired old argument, and requisite make-up sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of Contention

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: things you said at the kitchen table.
> 
> [Originally posted here.](http://mresundance.tumblr.com/post/130501325412/13-things-you-said-at-the-kitchen-table-for)

"You really are an asshole," Will growled.

The croissants were burning in the oven, and Will didn't give a damn.

It was the same old argument, really. Hannibal withheld the truth (again), Will found out (again). It wasn’t really an argument any more so much as a point of contention which occasionally erupted. Such as Will and Hannibal arguing about it before breakfast, and coming (again) to no conclusion. Then Will pushing Hannibal into the counter, and shoving his bathrobe open. He jerked Hannibal in his hand, roughly, while he bit red marks into Hannibal’s throat.

Hannibal groaned, and Will felt his cock thickening in his palm.

“I hate you,” Will said.

“Noted,” Hannibal said.  

“Shut up,” Will barked. “Get on the floor. Lay down on your back.”

Hannibal obeyed, but rather lazily, and with an obnoxiously smug expression. Because these arguments always ended in sex.

Will yanked his boxer briefs off, and, instead of straddling Hannibal and riding his cock while exchanging toothsome and bloody kisses, he sat on his face. He felt Hannibal shudder in shock, or surprise. Will couldn’t tell, of course.

“You’re going to eat my ass,” Will said. He hadn’t washed his ass in preparation for any such activity, but Will was angry enough not to care.

He spread his cheeks and rolled his hips. He wasn’t concerned if Hannibal could catch his breath, or if he was ready. Hannibal grunted something, but Will just kept rocking his hips, until finally, he felt Hannibal’s lips part, and his tongue slid up into him.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Will said, and began riding Hannibal’s face in earnest, relishing the hot, dark slickness of his tongue.

“Yes fuck,  _yes,”_ Will whimpered as Hannibal circled his entrance, then sucked on it – the sound obscene even over the burning-hissing of the croissants – and thrust his tongue back in.

The air was smoke-groggy, and the croissants were probably on fire, but Will bobbed on Hannibal’s face, and onto that tongue, until his orgasm, hot and livid and white, burst through him. His body tightened, and then unspooled slowly. Panting, he sagged back onto his haunches.

Hannibal nudged Will and Will moved. He stayed on the floor, somewhere between satisfaction and discontent, between boneless release and brittle spite.

Hannibal pulled the croissants out of the oven, no more than charcoal, and made a disappointed noise.

“Oh, poor sad cannibal,” Will smirked.

Hannibal glared at him.

Will wondered if Hannibal would drag him by his hair and spank him, elegant hands thudding against his ass.

Hannibal only ran his tongue over his lips, making lewd smacking sounds.    


End file.
